For Better or Worse
by CladInZebra
Summary: She made her decisions. But for better or worse? A girl looks back on her life, before and after meeting the one person who changed everything. Rated M for later chapters, which will include language, maybe drug use, and nocturnal activities. Rawr.
1. One Way or the Other

Hey there, everyone. So this is my very first attempt at anything remotely like this. Please be kind, but I'd love for you to give me a couple pointers or offer advice on what you think I should fix. Thanks so very much for reading. :}

Yeah, yeah, we all know that I don't actually own any of this, except for my gal. If I did, I probably wouldn't be writing this. So, don't sue me. We be poor.

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Looking back now, it's hard to remember my days before meeting him. How did I ever spend my time, and with whom did I spend that time? How was my life at home, my relationship with my family? And was it always this bad? No, impossible. It couldn't have always been like this…It wasn't. I was old enough, when we still lived back in my birth country, America, to remember that things weren't always this way. It seems odd to think that my father and I had a relationship, once. That there was a time when my mother told me she was proud of me, loved me, and cherished me. That for most of my life, my older sister and I were inseparable, possessing a sisterly bond like no other. It feels as if all of that occurred decades ago, so old that even the memories, once so vivid, are beginning to slowly fade away. But even as time continues to dig away at those faint memoirs, even now, it will never change the facts. That was my life. That's how things were. I've always been one who found the truth to be stranger than the fiction. It's no surprise.

I cannot recall a precise day, week, or even month when my life at home started collapsing in on itself. But I do know why. Don't be ridiculous. You think that as soon as he appeared everything started going wrong? That his very presence transformed me? Yes, it made me so hateful to the world, so ignorant of others, so recklessly dangerous that I was a threat not only to myself, but to others around me, right? Please. Spare me. It's not as if he was surrounded by some mystical aura that would overtake anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path and seize them to do naughty things against their will. I've always looked at Alex as someone who could do anything. But even he couldn't do that. And if he couldn't, who could? No, it wasn't him. It was me. I made my choices. I made the decisions. Of course, you could argue that it was because of him that I was given the options, the temptations, but in the end, only I was responsible for my actions. I blame him for nothing, and never will. Most of you now are scoffing at me, I'm sure, murmuring something about naïve, stupid young teenagers who are blinded by, or what is their idea of, "love". I've heard it all before, so, please, don't feel the need to hold back. Believe me, I won't be offended. I've learned that arguing this particular topic with my "elders" is a waste of time, energy, and breath. They won't understand, don't try to, and I don't expect them to.

However, I'll let you in on a little something; I do know what love is. I know what it's like to truly love, and to be truly loved in return. I know the feeling of being content just to lie next to someone in the dark, hearing only the sounds of a light rain tapping quietly against the roof and the calm, gentle exhale of the person who holds you close. I know what it's like to silently commit yourself to them, to inwardly promise to do anything for them, and the sheer thrill, exhilaration and terror that follows when you do just that. I know what it's like to defend what's yours at all costs. I know the most beautiful of all feelings when this is mutual. That's what love is. It will change you, for better or for worse. That much is inevitable. It's up to you to make the decisions that will decide how it will change. I've already made mine. Regrets or not, what's done is done. Have I lived my life to the max, has it been the best it could be? Or have I ruined what little time I have on this Earth and made life seem more like a slow, painful disease which I must suffer through each and every day? You be the judge and decide for yourself. In my mind, I already know the answer.

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OOC: Yeahh, this is really short and kinda lame...Sorry. It'll get better, hopefully. I don't know when I can get more chapters up...hoefully this Friday night or Saturday. Things are crazy right now. Well, thanks for reading. Please review. That would be awesome. :}


	2. Bosco then Taylor now

Sooo, here comes chapter two. Hopefully, it's a little lengthier than the last. Sorry about that, by the way. I didn't have much time, but I was dying to break ground, you know what I mean? This one will let you guys get to know her a bit better, but I'm not sure if Mr. DeLarge will make his entrance just yet. I know. Bear with me, kay? Thanks. You know I appreciate it.

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It's difficult to say where I should begin. When about to describe the last few years of your life to the best of your abilities, it's not easy to pick a single starting point. I guess the best way would be to start off with the 'big move'.

Like I said before, I wasn't originally from England. No, I was born and raised in Illinois. We lived there until I was in my mid-teens, so I was spared the British accent. I'm only kidding. Sort of. It's not that I don't like it; it would just seem absolutely freakish coming out of my mouth. I mean someone from Illinois with a British accent? It's just not me. But, and I never realized this until the move, I find the accent to be very beautiful. It was after meeting Alex that I truly came to appreciate it. Good thing, too. Whenever my thoughts turn to him, which is more often than I'd like to admit, it seems his voice always follows. It has been a long couple of years, but his voice remains clear and unscathed in my mind, as if I were remembering a conversation we had yesterday. There really should be no astonishment in this. Why wouldn't I go to extreme lengths, mentally, of course, to keep it so fresh in my mind? It was the very voice that got me through my remaining years living at home, even if, some would say, it was because of him that the trouble occurred. It was his voice that calmed me, soothed me, and reassured me, even if it was for all the wrong reasons. I'd love to tell you that today, should I ever need a little comfort, I simply have to envision him in my mind and suddenly a little light would seep through at the end of the tunnel. I'd be lying if I did. Oh, it does happen, on occasion. But it's not always that warm voice I hear. I hear other tones, too. Sometimes things such as simple everyday activities will stir up memories I've tried to put behind me. It's not always so pleasant. Sometimes it's his elated cries of ecstasy, perhaps when on the prowl with his "droogs", as he had once called them, as they completed one of their many guilty pleasures. Minus the guilt, of course. Or perhaps it took place during one of our own "guilty pleasures". Hold the guilt, please. No regrets there. Then there was his laugh – his real laugh. Not the one that echoed down some dark alley, bouncing harshly off the solid concrete walls, joined with the sharp smacking sounds of a beating. But the one I would hear. Don't worry. I am also visited by the more notorious one. Finally, there's the anger. Various cries and snarls of rage, the sound of hollow footsteps approaching – "I would think twice if I were you, brother..." – that metallic noise a knife makes when it's swung violently outward, failing to meet flesh. The sound of bodies smacking unto the wet pavement, blurred figures closing in – Sorry. This thing has really gone off the rails. It's been so long since I ever talked of this…I guess I got a little carried away…Anyways, back on subject.

We lived right on Illinois' eastern border, I mean, we practically lived in Missouri. So, again, no funky accent. Another bullet dodged. Ha ha…So. I spent nearly 16 years of my life in our "cozy" little home. It was a bit small for my taste, but our family wasn't all that big. It was only my mother, father, my older sister, Jess, and I. Oh, and of course my beloved Bosco. He was a stunning Belgian Malnois, full of life and energy. He was what every dog should aspire to be; Intelligent, strong, protective, loyal, and caring. No one could top him. I have many fond memories of the summers spent outside with him, coming in from the angry heat to lay side by side on the cool linoleum floor in the kitchen; The winters when I would keep a comforter around me and he insisted on having a place somewhere in it's warmth as well. I was lucky enough to have found him in the local shelter when I just turned eight. He was in a litter of puppies dropped off in front of the shelter. I chose him myself. It was my birthday. Eight years later, not long before we made the move, we discovered that he had gotten cancer. The life in him which had burned so brightly, so intensely once before had begun to slowly die out. He refused his food and would go through a whole day without even looking at the water dish. There was nothing to do but make my old friend comfortable in his final days. One night, he didn't follow me into my room, as he always would, when it was time for bed. I knew of course what it meant. I called his name in vain anyway, my voice cracking and my hand motions for him to come to me became pathetic flailing. "Come on, Bosco. Come on…Bosco, please. Please come. Please." My sniffling came in violent, short bursts. He looked up towards me, his adoring chocolaty eyes meeting mine, and wagged his tail like he did before he became ill. As if we once again were out in the yard and he was waiting eagerly for me to throw the Frisbee I held in my hand. He was saying his goodbye. Then he turned away, and walked slowly down the darkened hall. I laid in bed and silent tears ran down my cheeks. I had always heard that animals prefer to be alone when they die. The next morning I found him. My Bosco, lying in his usual spot on the linoleum floor. Good dog.

About a month after that, we finally made the move to England. I was one of the lucky ones, or I guess you could call it that. I managed to make it over with some time to spare before another year of school started up. So I could spend roughly a month getting used to my new surroundings. And was it a change. By no means were we secluded back in Illinois. But this was nothing like I'd seen before! Even Chicago seemed roomy compared to this. But I wasn't complaining. We were "upgraded" from our little house to a rather spacious apartment. It was very modern and certainly kept us living comfortably. My father's new job, the reason the move ever happened, paid him much more handsomely. Things seemed to be looking up for us. It only took a matter of weeks before I got the hang of things, and I even found that I liked the setup better. The people were generally friendly, though I was constantly reminded by my mother of what she had heard from _other_ mothers about the "hoodlums who come out after dark." She had no idea. But at the time, neither did I. I took her advice. Until I met Taylor.

Taylor was obnoxious, loud, and giggly to an impressively annoying degree. And, to be frank, was a total whore. She had a little more than shoulder length platinum blonde hair (definitely extensions) which she curled into big, loopy spirals at the ends. She had a pretty face and her nail polish was always done to perfection, and always had to match her current outfit. Quite often, her ass was the target of some horny teenage boys' open palm. When this first happened when we were together, my eyes widened in shock and I looked to see her expression, thinking surely he'd get a good, solid punch in the face in response, or at least get his ear chewed off in a violent spew of profanities. She accepted with one of her irritatingly girly giggles, face reddening slightly and she waved them away in a playful manner. This obviously was nothing new for her. Taylor believed that short skirts (with the occasional fish nets), high heels, low cut and/or see through shirts were mandatory at all times. She was the last thing a father would want to see his daughter become. We clicked instantly.

"So, what cal you looking for today?" "Me? Oh, um…You know. Just kind of looking. Um, cal...?"

We were in some kind of record store that I just happened to stumble in upon, more out of curiosity than anything. I loved music, but at the time had no money to buy any. It was obvious, as questionnaire quite similar to what was quoted above continued, that I was not from around here. Taylor just felt the need to make a statement saying so.

"You're not from around here, are you?" She said, smiling at me in almost a smug way, as if that gave her some kind of an advantage over me. I smiled politely back, though a twitch of annoyance flashed across my face before I could do so. She noticed but did nothing. "No, actually. We just moved here." "From where?" Taylor seemed genuinely interested. She crossed her arms, staring intently at me. I let the smile thing slide and decided to let her have another chance. "America, actually." I said it sort of quietly. I wasn't ashamed of it, but with someone like Taylor you never knew if their reactions would cause a scene. Her eyes widened with excitement and she clasped her hands together as she did a little hop thing. "America? You're from America?" Her voice was rising. I looked quickly over my shoulder to see if anyone had glanced over. Only a few, but they turned away. I felt a smile tugging at my lips from her enthusiasm. It was contagious. "Well, how long have you been here?" "Only a couple of weeks." "Oh, okay. So, how's your luck been? Make any little droogies?" She said this in a teasing manner, grinning slyly at me. I stared at her. "Friends," she clarified, sounding a little annoyed that she'd had to repeat herself. I shrugged. "Well, technically, no." At that she grabbed my hand and started yanking me towards the door. "Then I have just the place for you." Taylor declared confidently, pulling me out into the dark streets. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't bother asking. Perhaps if I had, and she had bothered to explain it to me, I would have thought up an excuse to back out. But I'm glad I didn't. The various voices; they would have never come to be. Suddenly, she stopped, and I ran into her because of it. Taylor turned around, an eyebrow raised. "I never heard your name.." I smiled back. "Kate. My name's Kate."

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OOC: Well that's numero deux. I finished way sooner than I expected. So I hope you're enjoying it so far. I PROMISE he'll be in the next one. Sorry it's taking forever, but I wanted to get some of that stuff outta the way so we could move on to bigger and better things. Thanks for reading. It'd be amazing if you left a review. Comments, questions, advice. Love it all. Thanks. :}


	3. The Stare From The Back Wall

Wow, it's been awhile. Sorry. This one's pretty long and not really any Alex, but he's there at least. Yeah, I'm cheap, I know. But it was getting wayyy too long. Next time.

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After making my "official" introduction, Taylor happily made hers, the giggle that I was beginning to know all too well, of course, followed. I realize the image that you have of Taylor is probably of a squealing, hyperactive teenage girl, fawning over the latest boy band and who is almost always dressed in a so-bright-it's-nearly-painful bubble gum pink color. And to some degree, you're not too far off. My first impression of her was similar. But it didn't take long for me to see straight through the act.

She grabbed my wrist again and started leading me to, well, wherever she was leading me. It was as if my "newness" to the area affected my ability to navigate down the freaking road. It was a little irritating, but I let her get on with it. Hey, I was a teenager, I had just moved and I didn't really know anyone. Cut me some slack. Anyways, as she oh, so kindly escorted me to our "mystery destination", I took a good look around. The sun had finally set, and the baby blue sky was now a purple streaked with angry red tones, the deep navy blue of night slowly seeping in from the east to take over. The few streetlights along the road flickered to life around us, each emitting that eerie buzzing sound of florescence, and I glanced at each warily as they did so. We had been walking mostly in silence, which didn't do much for my nerves. It was pretty dark, and hard to see, but on the other side of the street I began noticing more…people. Walking around. Kids our age, it looked like. They would look over towards Taylor and I, say a few words to one another, maybe have a good laugh about it, but nothing more. I took a few more steps toward Taylor, but she didn't seem to notice. I almost laughed at myself. As if Taylor would protect us from a group of restless, horny boys. I won't say I was a coward at that time. I just had good common sense. My mother's words came to mind, "Try to be home before dark, okay? I don't want you wondering the streets at night around here. Katie… I just want you to be safe." Be safe…Letting a stranger I met in a record store take me to somewhere -- I didn't even _know_ where -- would probably not be her ideal example of safety. She would begin to wonder where I was, get worried, but I told myself I wouldn't be out too long. I'd tell her I'd gotten lost on my way home, that I simply made a wrong turn somewhere along the way. I felt bad thinking up lies to tell my mom. She had never done me wrong. But even if I had changed my mind, how could I back out now? We had been walking for some time, so I figured we had to be getting close. No point in it now.

There was a point where Taylor's grip on my wrist loosened, and I slid it out of her hand as quickly as I could without it seemingly being offensive. She glanced over her shoulder and flashed me smile, then set her focus back in front of her. Maybe she took the hint. Looking down at my wrist, there were red marks from where her hand had been, more from the length of time than the force she exerted on it. I frowned, and sort rubbed at it out of a weird habit I have. I have to say, when I looked back up and saw them, I felt my stomach flip and for a moment I stopped dead in my tracks. Taylor noticed, rolled her eyes and laughed. "Come on. No need to be shy." She linked arms with me and paraded me forward. Getting closer, I was able to see them more closely. I can honestly say that my heart actually stopped beating until I noticed that the two approaching forms were definitely of female form. They hadn't seemed to realize that we were there yet. Taylor used her free hand to put her fingers to her lips and whistled shrilly. The two silhouettes snapped their heads in our direction, stared for a moment, and then began to prance over. At that point I think I audibly sighed out loud in relief. Thank God. She knew them.

It was then that I got to have the pleasure of meeting Vickie and Jean. I figured, as they came towards us in the night, that they would be much like Taylor. I was surprised to see that, in many ways, they were not. They sauntered up to Taylor and me, stopping in front us. They seemed friendly enough…Taylor of course was gracious enough to break the ice. "Look who I like picked up down at the record mesto. Cute little devotchka, isn't she?" She had her hand on my shoulder, shaking me slightly; looking back and forth between me and the others for approval. I didn't bother asking what a devotchka was. A girl, perhaps…? I just sort of stood there, smiling at the two new girls. I guess the term is not really appropriate. After all, it seemed as if I was the new girl. I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would be. And didn't mind the compliment. Hey, I never said I was humble. The two nodded and smiled in their agreement. "Thanks," I said sort of softly, smiling up at them from my lashes. The red head stared at me in confusion, her eyebrows pulling together as she listened to my voice. The girl beside her, a sort of caramel color brunette, seemed puzzled for only a moment before nodding her head, as if confirming something for herself. "Oh, yes," Taylor said, putting her arm around my shoulders. "This one is from America," she explained. Like they didn't have the idea already. "Um, I'm Kate," I told them a little rushed, trying to change the subject out of a desperation even I didn't fully understand. The light colored brunette smiled kindly at me. "Jean," she said. I could tell, from the expression on her face and the look in her eyes, that she knew I was nervous about walking around the streets in the night, the growing amount of kids that were starting to wander around, and even about them. I knew she could tell, but there was also something about her that seemed to understand it all. She understood what I was feeling, and didn't blame me. I smiled back. I could tell we would be close.

Vickie was a different story. I never really minded her, until the very end, but we were never very friendly. She had the most beautiful hair I'd ever seen. It was about shoulder length and was a very bright red color. And man, was it wild. It was wavy—very wavy—and I thought it was gorgeous. Along with that and her intense, bright green eyes, she had a very feral look, very feline like. She had freckles sprinkled across her nose and right under her eyes. She and Taylor really were quite different. Vickie was a little more reserved than Taylor (though that isn't much of a feat) and had a very dark, seductive tone of voice compared to Taylor's high pitched giggling. Jean, too, seemed much unlike the others. Her light brown hair was cut in a sort of bob, which was very cute. Out of the three, she was the most down-to-earth and friendly. Well, she was the friendliest one who was not obnoxious about it. Jean had a very innocent look to her, and I couldn't help but wonder how she came to be with the other two. It's not important, anyways.

Vickie took a step towards me and sort of looked over me, as if sizing me up. It made me feel a little awkward, but mostly aggravated. I didn't exactly try to hide that from my face. I was getting impatient. She stopped at my face, her eyes meeting mine, and after a moment she flashed pearly whites from behind red lips. She seemed amused. I couldn't find the humor in it. "And I'm Vickie," she cooed, batting her lashes at me. "So nice to meet you." Again, she smiled. "Well, aren't you quite the little catch," She said, folding her arms and cocking her head to the side. I laughed politely, but remained silent otherwise. What was I supposed to say? 'Oh, you know it' ? "Wait'll all the malenkly malchicks get ahold of you," the red-head said, winking slyly at me. Her eyes flashed over at Taylor. "So, will it be the usual tonight?" Taylor nodded. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" Vickie's gaze shifted towards me, lingered there for a moment, and then snapped back to Taylor as if posing a question. _The usual. And that means...? _I wondered as I looked to Taylor. Laughing, she waved away the question with a hand. "Oh, don't worry about it. She'll be fine." Vickie's ruby lips curled into a sort of sneer, and she nodded, turning around and beginning to walk away. Jean followed behind her, but stopped to give me a half hearted smile. I think she was trying to reassure me, but I didn't find it all that helpful.

Well, I may not have known much about this "Usual", but apparently I was going to learn a lot. When we left our little congregation area, they took me into this public bathroom that was a little ways down the street. It was kinda gross and trashy, but they had insisted on it so they could, how do I say this...alternate my looks. It wasn't too drastic. At least I didn't think so. I have a lot of layers in my hair, and they teased them up a little, but I didn't look like I was some middle aged lady who was still stuck in the 80's. And for the record, my hair is a little longer than shoulder length, and NOT black. It's dark brown and I will defend that till my last breath. I'm a stern believer in makeup and general good physical appearance. My family gave me the nickname Mae-- You know, Mae West? -- because I take so much time to "gussy up" no matter where I'm going. Otherwise, the comparison stopped there. We look nothing alike. I'm a little more curvy, by no means a big girl, but I'm sporting some serious birthing hips. My face is also different, it's sort of square and I have a more defined jawline. I'm not conceded, but I've always considered myself to be a pretty girl. Oh, and our last name is West, so, ha, ha. How clever. Truth be told, though I'd always kind of fuss when they called me by it, I never minded. Kind of liked it. Anyways, I guess they thought they had to change that a little, too. They darkened the eyeliner around my eyes, making my usually dark brown eyes really pop, slopped on more mascara, a little extra blush, put on a little lip gloss, a splash of body spray...and voila! In their eyes, I was ready to go do their Usual. Finally. I frowned. Man. I really, _really _took a wrong turn, huh, Mom?

Though things had been a bit awkward at first, I will say that the walk to the Usual was much more fun. I had relaxed quite a lot around the three, and was beginning to even feel an actual friendliness come around. We laughed, we joked, we talked. It was good. We passed several groups of kids on the way, and at first I would tense up when came in our direction. Then I noticed that, when they came closer, they seemed to realize who the other three were, and steer clear. This confused me. I looked over at my new accquaintences. They weren't that intimmiddating. Oh, well. I wasn't complaining. When I became comfortable enough, I asked the group, "So, where exactly are we going?" "The Korova," Taylor said simply, staring ahead with no expression on her face. "Where else would we take a newbie like you?" I noticed Vickie's vain attempt to hide her smile.

Then we were there. It was sort of a hole-in-the-wall place. I would never had thought anything of it if it weren't for them. It wasn't really marked by any sort of sign. It was a simple door, sort of worn. I don't think I would have even noticed it. So in we went. Before us there was a set of stairs, leading downwards. Two big men stood on both sides of it, their arms folded across their enormous chests, complete with beards and stern glares. They made me jump a little, but I don't think they noticed. The others, though, thought nothing of them and didn't hesitate to walk down the stairs. I followed, hurrying to catch up. Downstairs, the walls were painted black, numerous paintings and posters lined the walls, and they were all brighly colored. More men like the ones at the entrance stood down here as well. Two doorways stood on opposite sides of the room. We walked towards the one on the left. Taylor and Vickie smiled slyly at one another as we approached the doorway, glancing over at me. I was on the very right, and the last to enter the actual Milkbar. I always laugh when I hear the term "love at first sight" and especially "swept off my feet". Please. Alex took a sledgehammer to my chest, full force, and knocked me off mine.

The first thing I noticed was not the spaced-out, deillusion teenagers. It wasn't the obscene statues displayed all over the Bar, or the hulking men in the corners. It was the stare coming from the back wall. Two bright blue, intense eyes pierced through my own widening brown ones. I didn't move. I just stared back. What else was I to do? At the time I didn't feel that movement was a possibilty. He had the most unusual half-smile on his face, not quite a smirk. But it also seemed as if he were...amused, or perhaps even intrigued. I'd even say that he almost looked as if he were expecting me, but I obviously knew that couldn't be true. In situations like this, I'd usually take a look around to see if there were someone behind me. But I knew there was no misunderstanding. He was staring straight at me, and all I could do was stare back. I refuse to use the expression "took my breath away", but I know for a fact that I stood there a good, solid 15 seconds gaping like a fish and trying desperately to breathe at a normal rate. He didn't say anything, not then. Well, of course not. He was across the room. But there he sat, surrrounded by three other boys who stared off at the wall behind me. I didn't pay any attention to them. What was going on with me? I think he noticed my confused expression (everyone else was too zoned out to really notice anything) and his smile widened. "Kate?" I snapped my head to my left and Jean was by my side, an eyebrow raised. I looked down at her hand on my shoulder. I cleared my throat and tried to gather my compsure. "Um, yeah?" I smiled nervously. "They have couches for a reason," She teased, pointing to the wall behind her with a thumb where Taylor and Vickie now sat. She was smiling, and I knew she had good intentions. "Oh. Right. Ha ha, of course." I mumbled, my face reddening as I walked past her towards the other two. But slightly, ever so slightly, I turned my head to catch another glimpse of the stare from the back wall. It was still there.

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Crappy ending, sorry, but I had to end it. Don't worry, this part will finish next time. I won't just leave it at that. Thanks.


	4. Insomnia

Believe it or not, I am alive. And here is the fourth chapter.

After a brief period of stumbling over both my own two feet and the floor, I made it to the couch; the stumbling caused partially by the fact that I kept my reddened face parallel to the floor, but mostly from the sheer awkwardness of the moment. Not to mention the knowledge that I knew I'd react like this before I even did. Believe me, I was no stranger to awkward moments.

Anyways, I managed to make it without injuring myself and/or others with my embarrassed shuffle. Quite a feat, if you ask me. Usually something (or someone) is knocked over, things are broken, inanimate objects run into...I plopped down next to Taylor, who sat on my left. A second later, Jean took her seat to the right of me. I was fidgety, as I always am when I'm put in uncomfortable situations. I went back and forth between anxiously rubbing my knee and fiddling with a strand of my hair, each nervous habit taking place about, oh, 2 seconds apart. My eyes darted nervously to the faces of my new 'friends'. Jean folded her hands together and rested her elbows on her knees. Looking to me, she smiled and shook her head. Even though she said nothing, it meant, _Relax. Nobody saw that, _even though we both knew that someone did. I was naive, but I wasn't totally socially inept.

Taylor, meanwhile, remained silent, (quite a shock, I know) and was too focused in scoping out the room. Way too focused. I almost pitied the man who dared to wander within Taylor's range. There was no escape from that. It sort of reminded me of the way the lionesses stalk a herd of prey out in the savannah; sneaking surprisingly near to the unaware group before her with bold, yet careful, steps. She chooses an area to hide herself in, remaining completely out of sight while she has the perfect view. She examines them with unsurpassed patience despite the burning anxiety that gnaws at her. Then, after narrowing down her prey to the youngest or the weakest, she waits for that poor sucker to come just a little too close. And pounces with her claws out and no intentions of mercy. Jesus. That must've been her equivalent of a watering hole.

After a couple of minutes watching a tensed-up Taylor eye anything that walked past, I noticed that the red-head, Vickie, had gone. I looked around the rectangular room for her, and within a couple of seconds had spotted her wild orange hair. She was doing something...but with her back to me I couldn't tell what. I let out a deep sigh, which made Jean glance in my direction, but I pretended not to notice. Instead, I was starting to see this Korova for the first time. The walls, the floor were all black, and contrasted well with the white couches and decor. Well, if you could call it 'decor'. Several statues of women stood in the Bar. They were on their knees, arms spread out and chained to the wall behind them. Each of them were nude and they had an expression of, um..."surprise". I was never a sheltered child. I got the drift. I figured they were there purely for appearance. Their presence never bothered me, and even then did not. Yeah, yeah, yeah, boobs, so what? I'm not easily offended. All the while, as I was surveying my new surroundings, I still felt those same two blue eyes bore into the side of my head. I ignored them, or at least I acted as if I did. I doubt he believed me. "Now, now, Kate," he'd say whenever I'd playfully fib to him about something, anything. "Don't you think you ought to give me a malenky bit more credit than that? I know you too well, I'm afraid, for that to slide." It was true. I'd never managed to get anything by him, not once. Even with more important issues. Of course, I'd never seriously lied to Alex. At least not in a way that would hurt him, but rather in some attempt to protect him. And occasionally the both of us.

As I desperately tried to give him the cold shoulder (though I don't think it counts if that person remains as the main object of your thoughts in such an intense way), I looked to the other teenagers, or, as I would learn a little later on, the other Nadsats. All of them stared blankly at the wall before them. Or the floor. Or the ceiling. I looked down to their hands, where they each grasped a glass of milk. This confused me. We didn't have anything like the Milkbar back in America, so that was the first time I'd ever seen anything of the kind before. Though I said I was not a sheltered child, I'd never done anything like drugs. Sure, I had friends back in the States who were into that kind of thing, but it never really appealed to me. I just had no desire to do it. Believe me, if I had, I would've done it. My parents and I had a good relationship at that point, but I was no "Daddy's Little Princess" or any crap like that.

It was then that Vickie made her way back over to the couch. Jean looked up at her and Taylor, with much reluctancy, abandoned her man hunt, sticking her hand out angrily as if waiting for Vickie to hand her something. Vickie rolled her eyes in disgust at the blonde, roughly shoving the glass into her outstretched hand. "Thank you," Taylor said curtly, clearly unhappy with the interruption that had been made in her evening prowl. Vickie turned away with an aggravated look on her face, and handed another frosty glass to Jean. With a polite nod and a smile, she accepted. Then it was my turn. Vickie turned her ivy eyes to meet mine and offered up a gleaming glass. I only hesitated a moment before taking it. As I pressed my lips against the chilled glass, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smile.

* * * * * * *

I hurried down the empty sidewalk towards the apartment building. Or my..._home_. I hadn't gotten used to that just yet. I could faintly hear the acceleration of a car over my frenzied thoughts, and I vaguely registered the fact that it was Taylor and the other two. When we had left the Korova, we thought it'd be best to keep this experience hush-hush. From the family, at least. I didn't think they'd necessarily approve. Neither did the others. So, for both my sake and the sake of my parents content, peaceful sleep at night, they dropped me off at the end of my street to foot it home in case my parents might happen to see. I didn't mind the walk. The apartment we lived in was in a nicer part of town, where any real kind of trouble rarely occurred. Well, unless you count the occasional scandal, affair, or scuffle between spouses. You know, typical bored housewife gossip trash. Not only did I feel much more secure in this neck of the woods, but it gave me time to get my story straight. I only hoped it would hold up against two prying parents.

An hour and a half later, I was in bed. After an hour and a half fending off upset Mom and Dad and shooing my curious older sister out of my room, I was in bed. She was just as suspicious as they had been, only she wasn't accusing. She just wanted the juicy details. I stared at her in disbelief, and then shut the door in her face. I'd hoped for sleep, but it didn't seem to be coming anytime soon. I stared off at the ceiling. Much like the kids in the Milkbar did. Eyes dim and glazed over, the lids drooping slightly. Conscious, but only in the fact that their eyes remained open. The Milkbar...Various memories of the earlier evening came flooding back. I remember my first few sips. It tasted no different from ordinary milk (excuse me,_ moloko)_, nor did it smell oddly. For the first few minutes, I didn't feel any effect. Then slowly but surely, it began to set in. I find that no matter how I try to frame my words, I cannot describe accurately to you what it was like. But I can tell you one thing; from the first moment the drugs, the veshches in that beautifully concocted beverage made their way into my system, I was hooked. I'd be back again for more. There was no doubt in my mind. But that was not the only reason.

Like I said before, I usually sneer at the expression "love at first sight". I will stand by this. I didn't fall for Alex the first time our eyes met that night. You could call it more of a strangely compelling interest, unique and unlike anything you'd felt before, complete with the forceful drive to satisfy said interest. I never said it wasn't complicated. You try summing that up in a more concise way. He didn't stay there much longer after I'd gotten my first taste of the Milkbar's special moloko. I imagine I would've been more dismayed at his exit if I were sober, though I did take notice. Now it's true that when he left, the room was spinning, the words painted across the wall were dancing and a bevy of zebras that came in each and every shade of color under the sun were trotting past. But I was sure that when he passed by, he looked directly at me--his icy eyes still maintaining their power over my breathing rate and train of thought--and nodded his farewell. To me. The same smile on his face. His three companions glanced in my direction as well, one head turning after the other. I'm pretty sure I laughed about the way that looked, probably because of the altered state I was in. But I might've done that anyway. That night, as I lay in bed, I became more sure that that did happen, and it was not merely the wondrous workings of the moloko. With a frustrated sigh, I rolled over and forced my eyes shut, only to see his. As stubborn as I am, I continued to lay there and wait for sleep to eventually overtake and subdue my racing thoughts. It felt as if I'd only has them closed them for a few moments when I happened to glance over at the red glow of my clock. 6:31 a.m. Morning. I hid under my pillow.


End file.
